


a yearning that you can't ignore

by rottedflowerpits



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, POV Keith (Voltron), Porn with Feelings, Secret Relationship, Size Difference, Size Kink, i'm a month late and turned it into something much more than it needed to be, this was supposed to be a kinktober prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 04:43:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16758175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rottedflowerpits/pseuds/rottedflowerpits
Summary: Where there's a will, there's a way. And Keith (and his hormones) will always, always, find a way.





	a yearning that you can't ignore

**Author's Note:**

> i really meant to just do one big long kinktober thing for the last day but here we are...a month late, and with this. i tried? lmao

The first time Keith had really noticed it was during a spar. 

It was the only time in a given day that he would be _allowed_ to throw a punch, to let the adrenaline course through his veins and make his chest burst. He'd gone through the majority of his peers before Shiro offered himself up as a match. Keith scoffed at first, brushing a fist across his forehead to catch the excess buildup of sweat that had formed across his brow. He'd been going at it for hours; Shiro had just gotten there. 

So there was that one advantage. 

Shiro was a literal wall. Somehow, Keith had never noticed his near-behemoth size until he tackled Keith effortlessly to the ground. Keith was at a terrible disadvantage, scrawny and seventeen and scrambling for purchase before it was all over. 

And all too soon, it was. 

Shiro had ended his streak with literally one move, sitting on Keith's back and twisting his arm behind his shoulders. The pain bit enough into Keith's pride to make tears well at the corners of his eyes, but to his surprise...

Well. It hadn't really bothered him _that_ much, in the end. 

Ever since that first match, Keith had learned the subtlety in polite requests for more one-on-ones. Practice, he said. An excuse to better his form and gain a little muscle. It did nurture a bit of a healthier habit in him, when Shiro suggested a change of diet alongside the other advice. Keith only paid some attention to what he had to say, but he did at least half of what he heard. After all, if he didn't at least try to feign improvement, then Shiro would know something was up inside his head. 

And that was the last thing Keith wanted. 

Keith really didn't want Shiro to know of the nights his mind had lingered on his broad chest, the elegant slope of muscle that curved into steadfast shoulders. Keith really tried to not think about how he'd grabbed Shiro's bicep and took note of the fact he couldn't wrap a hand around at least half of it. Shiro took up more space than Keith had ever known, and moments up close and personal on nights like those were such a gratifying and exciting opportunity to explore it. 

Somehow, Shiro had never caught onto the fact. He didn't call Keith out when he'd been toppled over for the night, the eighth time in a row and calling for the abrupt end of their session. After all, Keith could go for literal hours. But Shiro seemed to be too considerate, too _nice_ to realize the surge of hormones that usually rushed through Kein's solar plexus in those heated moments. 

Or maybe he did, and he was just too _nice_ to say anything at all about it. So, much like Keith's perceived image of Shiro's train of thought, he let it slide. 

One day after Shiro's grand falling out that Keith totally hadn't eavesdropped on, and the rumor that he totally didn't read too much into about Shiro and Adam, Shiro...actually did notice something. 

“Your defensive stance never really did improve, did it?” 

He said it with a gentle laugh. Keith could tell he didn't want to insult him; it was accentuated through the clap of Shiro's hand against Keith's shoulder, the gentle squeeze he offered. 

“But that's all right,” he continued, unaware of Keith's headspace caving in on itself. Shiro's fingers brushed at the sinew of his shoulder blade, right along the bone. His thumb was at Keith's clavicle, and Keith swallowed hard, Shiro's voice as distant as if they were in a tunnel. The blood rushing through his ears mimicked the effect of a howling wind, and it was all too evident his mind had wandered when he finally uttered a “wha?”

Shiro laughed again, regrettably pulling away. He moved to grab a bottle of water and toss it towards Keith, and thankfully, he had enough coordination and sense of self to catch it before it smacked him in the face. 

“It works for you, though.” Shiro tossed a shoulder in a flippant shrug. Keith still didn't know if he had winked to this day, but his mind's eye liked to replay the image of Shiro, tired and exhausted, a hand on his hip, smiling lazily before _winking_ at Keith. 

“You really make it work, Keith. I'm proud of you.” 

Keith had thought long and hard about those words. The sparring had died down to a maybe once every two week expedition. That was of Keith's own accord. His awkwardness, his shame, had finally gotten the better of him. Shiro's situation punched Keith a little too hard in the gut, and common sense finally quelled the rage of his hormones against his bodily machine. 

Keith had to stop his ploy. Keith had to give Shiro space. No matter how much he liked Shiro's weight bearing down against his hips as he was pinned once again underneath those arms, he had to stop. It was only right. It was considerate. 

But all of Keith's underestimations were all roads that led to Shiro and his ability to take one by surprise. It had been a few years since Shiro had inducted Keith into the Garrison, but the habit of melting into the shadows and pretending he wasn't a person was a habit that was ingrained into Keith's very infrastructure. It was a tough one to break, and it stuck with him as he read the same sentence of his history studies over and over again, too distracted to really think about anything else other than bed. 

Shiro brushed his palm along Keith's shoulder and jolted him from a hazed daydream. Keith's face warmed and he quickly turned his burning cheeks to the side, rubbing at one with the heel of a palm as casually as he could manage. 

“Hey,” Shiro had said. 

“Hey,” Keith had returned. 

It was late, that night Shiro had approached him in the library. Testing was on the distant but not too far horizon, and even Keith thought it ridiculous, the energy he was suddenly pouring into his studies. He wanted to do good for Shiro, yeah, but he'd never been this apt to do it. Little did he know the underlying reasoning that very night; it was a realization that would hit him like a train just a few hours down that past road. 

Keith's birthday had been roughly two weeks prior to that particular evening. Shiro had treated him to a small red velvet cake and a pair of driving gloves. He'd noticed calluses and blisters after their long nights out on the hoverbikes, and had made some offhand remark about how it was a shame. Soft skin, or something. Again, Keith hadn't really been paying much attention when Shiro had moved in for an embrace, holding Keith tight and closer than he really had before. 

Keith had been thinking about that hug since it happened. Hence his poor attention and sudden dive in studying skills. Shiro had ended the little conversation between them with, “If you need any help, just uh...feel free to come over. I'll be home. I know how rough it gets, having to cram for all of this.” 

He laughed, attempting a sweet and dulcet sound to cover up the tightness to his tone. It was subdued (Shiro was good at that) but Keith caught on, and his worries got the best of him. 

The walk down that hallway had been the longest walk of his life. Then, anyway. It was something that still stood out to him, the dimmed lights, the silence only broken by the distant hum of electrical wiring behind the walls. Occasionally the harsh _hiss_ of a door sliding open would scare him around a corner, pressed flat against the wall until he heard the footsteps fade. 

It felt like it had taken hours to reach Shiro's door. But when he knocked quietly to announce his presence, time became water in cupped hands as Shiro dragged him through the entrance. 

He hesitated, at first. Keith could tell Shiro had been working on mechanical habits forged in an old fire. A hand pressed flush to the side of Keith's neck. He didn't even need to strain to pet Keith's cheek; his fingers were already there, a thumb brushing underneath one widened eye. The lights in Shiro's apartment were just as dark as the ones in the hall, leaving only the flood of warm, orange lighting from the kitchen and bathrooms to spread out over the floor. 

Just enough light to be able to see each other, but not enough to let anyone know home was preoccupied. 

“What...what about Adam? Where is he?” Keith had asked. It was a breathless question puffed out in between kisses, Shiro's experienced mouth working at his clumsy lips. He'd been pressed to a wall, completely taken over by Shiro's weight, his body blotting what little light there was and rendering his face in shadows. Keith's gut clenched at the sight, and the tingling in his fingertips tried to start the alarm that maybe he'd said the wrong thing and it was time to go. 

“It's...it's all right.” Shiro's voice was defeated as he replied. They stood together like that for a moment, a soft and quiet moment, before Shiro pulled away, his fingertips tracing Keith's chin as he moved. 

“I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he started, averting his gaze. Keith shook his head despite the lack of meaningful eye contact, stepping closer as Shiro tried to stem the flow of his thoughts. 

“Adam's gone, I've been fighting tooth and nail for Kerberos, and even that's still hanging above my head. And on top of everything else, I...” He looked down at his wrist. Keith didn't even need to look himself to know what he was getting at. 

“It hurts. I...I just...I'm tired, Keith. 

_“It really feels like you're the only thing I have left.”_

Those were the last words spoken that night. Shiro had opened his mouth again to, presumably, try and chase Keith off back to his room and convince him to just focus on himself and his studies, but that's not quite how things had worked out. 

Keith was surprised at how natural the movements seemed to come to him. Stepping forward to close the distance between them again, his palms found home on Shiro's chest. They slid up to his shoulders, to the sides of Shiro's neck. Keith cradled it gently between both hands before slipping them to Shiro's nape and the back of his head, gently yet forcefully bringing him into another kiss. 

Keith remembered the faint taste of alcohol. It hit his senses like gasoline, but judgment was far from his status quo at that point. They both knew what they were doing, what they were getting into, and the implications behind it all. 

Keith, selfishly, didn't care. 

And he was glad to see Shiro didn't either. 

Shiro had been a burnt-out fuse that found its second wind. He pinned Keith underneath him to an unfamiliar bed, and Keith really tried not to focus on what exactly it was, or what it had meant to Shiro before. But it was easy enough to let it go and lose himself when Shiro was parting his legs. Slow and methodical movements intertwined with desperate, heady kisses. Tears occasionally mixed in with the saliva in their mouths, making something that should have been so sweet so bitter and guilt-inducing. 

More than once Keith asked if they should have been doing this. He really did feel bad. Even if he and Adam had a strenuous relationship at best, he didn't want him to pick up on anything and treat Shiro even worse than he already did. 

...And by worse, Keith supposed that was just keeping a healthy distance. He finally glanced around the room and noticed just how _empty_ it was, and it finally beat itself into Keith's head that yeah, maybe this was okay. Adam seemed to be gone for good, Shiro needed him. And for as foolish as it was to indulge him in his current state, Keith let him have his way. 

Keith's otherwise repressed and shitty timeline he barely kept track of in his head liked to paint that night in vivid colors. It was something he'd looked back upon with a swell of different emotions, each one ranging from tender heartache to sickening realization. He could have ruined Shiro's career, his reputation. Even if they hadn't done anything while Keith was underage, there was still that _closeness_ a lot of others could have banked on that frightened the hell out of Keith. He wasn't a child anymore, but there were a reservoir of resources built like a dam between the two if anyone had enough of a hair up their ass about it. 

But he was able to calm himself with the facts. No one knew, Shiro and Keith went more than the extra mile to keep it between themselves, and the silent trust that had formed between them was more important than any spoken word. 

It was what kept Keith going. That night had turned into two nights, and two into three. The first few rounds were messy, more focused on exploring bodies and boundaries. Shiro was quick to pick up Keith's fascination with his hands, his arms. Keith slid his hands over every inch of Shiro that he could manage, covering so much and yet simultaneously not enough. Shiro's proportions compared to his were, quite frankly, ridiculous, and nothing else in their world excited Keith more than the possibility of taking advantage of it. 

And oh, he did. 

Their last night together was a bittersweet one, but one Keith was determined to make a good one anyway. 

“You sure you're okay with staying up late?” he'd teased, rubbing the cleft of his ass against the bulge at the front of Shiro's jeans. They'd fumbled into Keith's room, Shiro seated on Keith's bunk, too tiny for someone like him. It was hot, having Shiro so contained and out of his element. 

“I'll be fine,” he laughed, breathless, as he ran a hand up Keith's lower back.

For as ashamed as he was, Keith had nearly come from that alone. Shiro's palm dipped against the curve of his spine, his fingers ghosting up a few knobs along his back. His thumb could already reach down to play at Keith's exposed rim, and he didn't see them often, but new constellations had danced in his eyes. 

Keith had learned he liked it quick and rough. Most of the time he didn't have the patience to start from square one and chase an orgasm or two through the night. Shiro had a little more endurance than he did, a little more patience, and together it created a unique composition. Keith would try and get his way, and Shiro would force him to slow down. It was agonizing as much as it was incredible, and more often than not, at the end of the night, Keith couldn't really complain. 

Somehow, though, he'd been the one to set a languid pace that time. 

Shiro had let him top (mostly) and have his way. After all, this was his way of making up for leaving Keith behind to go to Kerberos. There were no hard feelings, but they both knew they were going to miss each other. Keith more than Shiro, probably. So he'd leaned back and let Keith have at it, letting him ride Shiro has hard as he wanted to, make as many demands as he could possibly manage in the span of a few hours. 

They'd both ended up breathless and utterly exhausted, Keith covered in bruises and bite marks and hand prints that spanned the expanse of a hip down the side of his ass, from chest to waist and ribs to abdomen. They'd gotten a little loud, very rough, and Keith was grateful not many others were roomed in the wing he occupied. It was more for the delinquents, and far emptier than the others. 

Even if all of that had eventually ended in earth-shattering heartbreak, it was still something Keith could look back on with a certain fondness. It was what kept him going, after all. The bond they'd forged through illicit trysts, from just _being_ together. They were all moments Keith desperately chased in the heatwaves of the desert sun, hoping to find the key to the code he'd convinced himself he needed to crack. 

Somehow, he had. That still vexed him a bit. Keith had been one-hundred percent sure at the ten month mark that he'd just lost it. He hadn't though, and it turned everything into a hazed fever dream he barely remembered; but the most important thing was that he held onto his sanity in the end, he supposed. 

That, and the feelings for Shiro he thought he'd tucked away. 

He tried to lock them in a space between his heart and breastbone, somewhere he could ignore them entirely. Every once in a while they'd swell into a tsunami that knocked him off his course for a couple weeks at a time, but there was a bitter acceptance in the hope he'd forged that prepared him for the worst. Keith mourned while he simultaneously fought everything he'd been told. He wondered why he did, why he tried so hard. 

It all came flooding back to him when he and Shiro had that first night alone together, really alone together, in the castle. It had taken a few days to get everyone off their backs and have a moment's peace, and it had taken a few caustic remarks from Keith to finally drive a point home: they _all_ needed time alone. 

Eternity had filled a space between him and Shiro, a false concept they'd both fallen into. They both thought the other would never be seen again, lost to the wide expanse of the universe forever. Eternity collapsed as Shiro pressed the palm of his hand to Keith's cheek, and he'd never been more appreciative of a mental breakdown than he had in that moment. 

Keith cried into Shiro's skin, tore into it, clawed at it with hungry fingers that hadn't had their fill of flesh in so _long._ He raked his nails down planes of sudden muscle, along the curvature of Shiro's sinew and connected joints. Keith wrapped his legs around a toned waist that heaved underneath hardened abdominals, and he let himself get lost in a sea of nothing but Shiro. 

His weight felt like it had doubled as it smothered the air from Keith's lungs. His grip was iron around Keith's wrists, his hands, his throat. The subtle thrum of energy through Shiro's new limb excited him in the worst kind of way, and he wasn't ashamed to let the man wreck him like he had that night before they both thought Shiro had been gone for good.

Only this time, it was better. Much better. It was a better that turned addictive, better than crack, and soon every training regime ended the same, every talk of battle plans and diplomacy. Keith barely paid attention to any of it, working instead for heated moments in the cockpits of their lions and long, drawn-out nights in their bedrooms. 

Unfortunately the war threatened another void between them, leaving them with fewer nights to dig into each other. What they could turn into sadistic romance in the bedroom turned into feverish minutes in the hallways, Shiro pressing Keith to the wall and using him as stress relief. It was a mutual feeling, and Keith had learned to appreciate biting down on metal to smother his voice as they had their way with each other. Each moment, every minute, all of the fleeting seconds were beautiful, and Keith had learned very quickly he'd taken them for granted. Again. 

Despair was a word that couldn't quite cut it for how Keith felt when Shiro just literally vanished from his seat. The five stages of grief churned through his entire nervous system in five seconds, and Keith felt himself come full circle to the first step as the reality of it all sank deep into his bones for the second time in his lifespan.

Keith found himself searching desperately again for the person he hated to admit was his other half. His soul wouldn't let him rest, insisting that Shiro was out there, lost in the stars. Keith liked to think he was rational, but that insanity he knew he'd fallen into in the desert came rushing back, completely smothering any voice of reason he himself might have had, or that the others had to offer. He was deaf to the cries of reality, finding comfort instead in his endless search in the darkness between stars and the delusions he spoon-fed himself. 

Keith didn't really care at that point what the others thought. He had given himself purpose, a drive that kept him going, something else to look at that wasn't the cold hard facts that he had lost Shiro for good this time. 

He ignored them, and he made a fool of himself. 

But like any good and worthy fool, he'd somehow found the secret to the forbidden art of alchemy and bargained himself a second chance. Also like any worthwhile fool, he ignored the price and the consequences. 

Shiro had come back to him. Different and haunted, in a way that was noticed but just couldn't be explained. Keith passed it off as yet more trauma and baggage (he balked at the way he thought about it, but there really wasn't a nicer way to put it), and just kept himself busy with the usual motions. 

They started out slow. Shiro didn't necessarily think he needed it, but Keith did. It was evident when they cut his hair, with the mile-long stares and the tendency to fade into a husk Keith could barely coax any words from. Shiro was just _different,_ and in hindsight, he'd been painted in red flags. Tattooed, even. 

But Keith was an enabler who caved too easily and Shiro was weak when it came to him. Slow turned into quiet confessions in the next night, Shiro's worries that he wasn't quite himself. When pressed on the topic, Keith felt the cold metal of Shiro's prosthetic wrap around his throat, tight and unmoving. The barely-restrained animus made Keith's throat dry and his chest squeeze, but there was an underlying excitement in Shiro's divulgence. 

He didn't think he'd be able to hold back, if they did this again. 

Keith swallowed hard at the comment whispered into his ear. His mind had about three seconds to rewind and reflect on their past nights spent together, their quickies milked out between other priorities, before Shiro was upon him. 

And for the millionth—maybe even billionth—time in his life, he'd realized again Shiro's stature and build compared to his own. _Different_ was the theme of this chapter in their lives, and it stuck as Shiro bore down into him for that hundredth first. Somehow he felt even bigger, compared to last time. Keith himself hadn't been a stranger to quiet growth and added muscle, but his had gone by barely noticed. Shiro, every time he'd come back to Keith, had one-eightied into something completely new and foreign and yet so titillating, and Keith was eager to relearn everything he'd touched before. 

Keith remembered gasping hard as Shiro's metallic fingers curled into his hair and tugged it, hard, back towards himself, enough so that hair had split from Keith's scalp and his watering eyes were forcibly met with Shiro's, and all he could do was helplessly and wordlessly watch as Shiro fucked roughly into him from behind. 

Following that night, a new theme painted itself over their hesitantly budding relationship. Shiro had become relentless, taking out every frustration in the healthiest way he knew how: through Keith. More often than not Keith woke up with a bruised neck, gripped so tight the night before that he'd nearly passed out from it alone. He was sore and ripped apart, torn in two, skin red and angry and bruised where skin had slapped against skin, where teeth had marked and hands had struck. 

Keith didn't mind it. He knew he probably should have, but he really didn't. Arguments no longer ended in quiet nights spent alone, awkwardly talked over the next morning over breakfast in hushed and rushed apologies. Arguments were resolved almost immediately every time they happened, from Keith's face pressed hard against the castle walls to it being shoved into the mattress, Shiro mounted behind him and turning the world onto its side. 

His hands would always roam Keith's body, gliding, scratching down his ribcage to grip his hips. Keith wasn't demure nor was he daintily tiny, but in Shiro's hands, he really felt like it. He felt each finger burn against his skin as they dug deep into the muscle. He marveled each time as they grabbed him by the thighs and tossed him around like he was a sack full of feathers. Distantly, as he was held to the wall by nothing but those hands and arms, Keith got off to the sight and idea of it more than Shiro ever knew. 

Those nights had been good. Bruised and bloody and _cathartic._ Keith didn't want them to end, and he tried to ignore their imminent demise as best as he possibly could as everything seemed so insistent on crashing down around them. Again. 

After a while, it was too much to handle. 

Piloting Black, handling the others, figuring out why Shiro didn't quite seem to fill the hole again he'd left behind—it was like a square peg had been shoved into a rounded hole, and while that hole and that peg offered such delicious distractions, when Keith wasn't being fucked into in every way and position possible, his mind wandered. And his mind worried. 

Sex replaced meaningful conversation spent on the bridge in the nights, watching swathes of stars glide past them. Arguments replaced talk of strategy and finding middle ground, disputes on which leader was right and which was wrong. And more often than not, Keith was in the wrong. He was distracted, too concerned with this and that and those things and never had a moment alone between the team and Shiro, and Allura and Coran, and their allies and their duties and their responsibilities and the other paladins and and and—

Quite frankly, he burst and collapsed in on himself like a supernova. He felt the vacuum in himself expand and take everything with it, and it was with a snap and heat-of-the-moment hurled decisions that he left everyone for the Marmora. He felt bad, he felt awful, he really did, but it truly had been the right decision. 

He was able to take that break, to put that distance between himself and everything that had whittled him down to almost nothing. He missed Shiro, he really did, and he was the one thing that nearly brought Keith back to the team every time they happened to talk over fading communications and broken, cracked receivers. Keith talked to Shiro when he could, in dark and quiet places and entirely alone on private channels. Sex was still prevalent as they took turns being voyeurs, getting off despite the distance. Keith thought he could abstain and distract himself, but sometimes he remembered Shiro's hands on his lower back and in between his shoulders, Shiro's thighs, Shiro's cock and how it'd split him open and let him see everything in a new light entirely. He _missed_ Shiro, and it was easy to pretend Shiro was still himself when they hadn't seen each other in so long and with thousands of light years between them. 

Then, funnily enough...Keith was the one to turn the tables. Somewhat. 

He had to back up, though. 

The war had gotten worse, everyone frayed at their seams and forgetting themselves in the mess. Shiro more so than the others, but Keith and Shiro had unwillingly fallen out of touch. Everything Shiro had done since had gone unnoticed by Keith. Occasional visits to the team and castle were nonexistent as Lotor became the Blade's primary concern, and coming down to the wire at the Kral Zera had quickly become everything in their lives. The mission before the individual. Keith fell into it more easily than he should have.

All of the Blades, a drop in an ocean yet still part of a whole, dedicated to one purpose to finally put this war to an end. An end that could have come easily (they'd never know now, would they?) if it hadn't been for Keith. 

Keith's weaknesses were embarrassingly predictable. Somehow, once again, he and Shiro had spanned galaxies and systems to find themselves in the right place at the worst time. Because of Shiro, Keith forfeited the mission for the sake of his wayward dedication. Even Keith vaguely knew how crazy, how stupid he was, for dismantling hundreds of bombs by hand. Even he knew he was ruining years of preparation, months of carefully laying out a plan, all for the sake of one man who had carried Lotor to the one thing he wanted. 

Keith, realistically, knew Shiro could have saved himself in the Lion. Keith, unfortunately, always fell to the wayside when it came to him and his reactions, his fragile heart that missed too much of everything he'd once had and everything he wanted again. So Keith ruined it all, for the one man who didn't even notice. 

Or maybe he had. 

It was only after the rift that Keith noticed the missed messages. After he'd met his mother, after they had embarked on their co-op mission, only to get lost in the cosmos and barely shirk certain death. The only comfort Keith could take was in knowing that his agonizing two years were a few days to Shiro, at most. 

All the while, it still killed Keith not to be able to answer him. Time managed to soften the racing thoughts in his head as he could only sit there and wonder what it was that Shiro wanted to say, or what he needed. He really tried not to focus on the fact it could have been an emergency, and that they needed Keith for something or the other, and they needed him _now._

It was hard, but Keith found new comfort in his mother, and getting to know her in the time they were stranded. With her, and his newfound companion, the distractions piled mercifully high and Keith was able to compartmentalize it all and staunch the weeping wounds on his own. 

But Shiro was still on his mind. At that point, Keith just had to accept he always would be.

Krolia had even pointed it out herself: Shiro had become Keith's entire life, ever since that day they had first met. Keith didn't want to admit to it, insisting on denying his own acceptance, struggling to convince himself and anyone else who would listen that he was his own person, his own universe, his own infinity, but...

It was a lie.

Keith was weak and Krolia was right. Shiro had landed at the most opportune and impressionable time in his young adult life, and Keith had a hard time imagining anything without Shiro. The one-year absence had been bad enough, yet somehow, the short span of time between Shiro's meteoric reunion and second downfall, only to come back shrouded in mystery, was worse.

Keith had spent a lot of time alone with his thoughts. Company was only skin deep when it wanted to be. Keith had taken after Krolia in more ways than just one, and that meant when there were no words to be shared, the air was a contemplative silence Keith couldn't escape. He hated it. Until he'd learned to deal with it. It was bitter acceptance at that point that kept him going, and he spent too many nights awake, his thoughts chasing their own tails and creating a whirlpool of misery he just couldn't escape. 

What fears he thought he'd managed to suppress were nightmares he just couldn't face. 

Everything came back around to the point that Keith had managed to repress. It was his only way out, his get-out-of-jail-free card when he needed the mental airspace to keep himself sane. Two long years melded suddenly into a rush of everything happening all at once, and the events thereafter turned into a blur that ended with a freefall that stopped and ripped apart time itself. 

Keith was running but he was running in place. Keith knew he'd found the eventual end to his road, the inevitable last stop for Shiro. Somehow he'd always known it would end like it had, together, with nothing else left to lose and only each other to hold onto. Keith had been all right with that. If there had been anything he learned while on his own out there in the vast void of the universe, it was that he couldn't depend on much. He only had himself in the end and he only had himself to blame when it came to everything, and he'd grown to know and accept what would come. 

It only sucked a little having it come so soon. 

But there was a pact Keith had forged with the iron in his blood and the stardust in his veins with the universe.

>Un• i• verse /ˈyo͞onəˌvərs/ 

Definition: Shiro. 

Shiro, somehow, had pulled through. Shiro was just that kind of person, that kind of _nice_ person to always do that kind of thing, and Keith always still found it in himself to doubt that. He'd always doubted the extent to which Shiro would go, the favors he'd pull in turn for Keith's devout following of him. Shiro was as stalwart as he was fucking flaky, and Keith hated to depend on the sole pillar Shiro had become in his paltry life. Shiro put everything out on the table for Keith, and spelled it out painfully slow that Keith needed to learn to function on his own. Shiro had made it clear and oh so very obvious that he wasn't a permanent fixture, and yet Keith fell for a beautiful lie he'd comfort himself with and wrap around him like a blanket in the night before falling asleep in the moonlight. He'd convinced himself Shiro was everlasting, like home, like the stars he'd get lost in so often.

Then, the unexpected (see: Voltron) happened, and Keith was left to the vacuum of space and internal combustion. It happened once, it happened twice, it happened three times. Fool him once, shame on everything else. Fool him twice, shame on everything else yet again. Fool him thrice, though, and he was still willing to rely on the decoy, the fake, in his embrace, to never lead him astray. 

Technically, it hadn't. But it, but _he,_ had been a fake. The only silver lining was Shiro coming through, to counteract what wasn't real and prove to Keith that he was gone yet back, full of promises that he'd never ever leave again and that he was so, so sorry. 

Fool Keith four times, and well...

When it came to Shiro, he'd fall for it every damn time. 

Kuron was laid to rest on Keith's own. It was after Shiro had taken over the vessel Kuron had been, after Kuron's soul had completely diminished and Keith had to come to terms with the fact that he'd killed him. He'd killed him and like a glitch in the fabric of spacetime and frail reality, he'd come back resurrected and fallen from the heavens to protect Keith and his flimsy sense of self-purpose and awareness. Keith hated it. He always had. 

Kuron was laid to rest on his own on some remote planet too far out and deep into space for anyone to care. Keith had let his soul go to the winds of abandoned landscapes painted over in hues of blue and navy, deep purple skies streaked through with red lightning and black rain to wash away his sins. Keith had let the subtle sting of acrid droplets burn his skin until it hurt and chased him back inside Black, to slouch in his seat and reminiscence over two years and multiple days that felt like five hours at most. 

It was a lot. Too much for one person. Enough so that he almost ran away again, to leave the lions and some future, far-off and personal mission to the others. But every time, Shiro was there, a guiding light on Keith's bleak horizon. 

Shiro had been there immediately after Kuron and his laughable funeral. Shiro had taken on Kuron's physical characteristics, warm and solid and wrapped completely around Keith and shrouding every sense in the depth of another. Keith let Shiro wash him away to supposedly better shores on bleak promises of _never again, never again, never again,_ and he continued to let the ideology comfort him like a lullaby as the weeks spanned on from there. 

It was harder, much harder, this time around to get used to things again. Infidelity was strange when the lines were blurred the way they had been. Shiro for Kuron, Kuron who was Shiro, Shiro who wasn't Shiro and yet was at the same time. Shiro still retained memories of Kuron's but not all remained, and the ones that lingered were nearly impossible to talk about and stitched Shiro's mouth shut in the most agonizing way. 

Keith could glean little bits at a time through their nights spent together. Nights that started out slow and sleepless, curled up underneath Shiro's arm and pressed into his side. Sleeplessness was only a recurring theme for Keith, with Shiro recovering mercifully next to him. What Keith managed to pry from Shiro's cold mouth were secrets spilled in between doses of unconsciousness and dreams themselves, and it was slowly, bit by bit, that he learned Shiro was afraid. 

Afraid of Keith, afraid of himself, afraid of the mark he'd left behind on his old lover. It all stung and settled into Keith's joints like a fevered ache, and it was to the point he almost gave up. On himself, on Shiro, on everything. 

But Shiro, despite it all, despite everything, always always always managed to be there in the end. He was afraid and so was Keith, but he loved Keith and he knew Keith loved him back, and that was the funny thing, wasn't it? 

Keith convinced himself time and time again in his younger years he didn't need anyone. He convinced himself after Shiro's death that he still didn't need anyone, and he convinced himself until the words were a mantra that he really, really didn't need anyone. But needing someone and what he and Shiro had become were two completely different things. 

Because while Shiro was afraid, he still loved Keith, and he confessed it again in the night to the point Keith felt the heartburn climb onto the back of his tongue in a sweet bile he couldn't swallow anymore. Shiro loved him and wanted to escape this mess with him and maybe, just maybe, spend the rest of a fucked life together in a peace they could both salvage from the waste of their pasts. It was practically a proposal and it left Keith breathless, and he answered it the only way he knew how. 

Worshiping Shiro was so damn easy. Despite everything, Shiro was still Shiro. Keith knew from the moment he put his hands on the other again, palms sliding across familiar patches of skin that didn't feel any different from the last time he felt it. Keith traced scars old and new, and Shiro kissed deep into him with fingers pressed to Keith's own scars, reverently caressing the old and hesitantly lingering on the new. 

Shiro held him so tenderly it hurt. 

Every brush of his skin on Keith's burned. Every slow stroke of fingertips gliding over ribs and bone and muscle felt like a knife tearing into the gristle of Keith's overworked senses. Shiro's fingers tasted like acid on his tongue and Keith couldn't do anything else but suck them further into his mouth and showcase what he seemed to be born to do. 

An entire existence formed around another was paltry at best, but Keith hadn't really expected anything to come from his in the end. So to have this one thing to hold onto, to come back to when everything wound itself into a tight coil and threatened to burst, he'd decided it wasn't all that bad in the end. Loving Shiro was like loving the destruction of a galaxy, intense and hot and devastating and beautiful and promising all at the same time. Keith knew that while the tragedy of their lives continued to write its recurring theme, there would always be a footnote, an epilogue, a to-be-continued to look forward to. 

They came in nights reworked into lazy again. Lazy inevitably turned into soft and quiet passion, and soft and quiet ignited into what they should have had. Keith had the time to explore Shiro for real this time, to brush his hot mouth over Shiro's. He was a different person, but so was Keith. They'd tangle the sheets around their new personalities and puff the differences out in barely-restrained moaning. 

Because, at the end of the day, this had all started with Shiro's musculature and Keith's rampaging hormones. 

Keith had nearly forgotten about those nights, bathed in orange and gunmetal grey. He'd almost forgotten about the sparring, the hesitant touches and guilty visits to Keith's room where they'd stow away cheap Chinese and get high. Keith had forgotten about the fact they'd been a lot more human before all of this had happened, and nostalgia choked him like a noose and demanded some kind of homage. 

And that's exactly what Keith did. Home didn't exist anymore but home wasn't about physical structures. Home was where the heart was, and Keith had turned his over to Shiro so long ago. Luckily for Keith the feeling was mutual, and he was allowed to dig into home with prying fingers and a newfound excitement he didn't think he'd ever feel again. 

Shiro's body pressed tight to his. Squared hips that made Keith's ache as they simultaneously made the bed groan for mercy. Keith learned to cherish the nights, because even if the universe seemed to have made a special deal with him, it still found itself in their way all too soon. 

Earth was ruined, but so were all of them. It was just going through old, familiar and practiced habits in a more familiar environment; yet the stakes were a little higher than usual, because even if Keith didn't find the blue dot to be at all homey as it used to be, Shiro's fondness and everyone else's excitement to be back where they belonged pushed him to do stupid things. 

Where he thought he'd learned a modicum of self-control and self-restraint, he always managed to prove himself otherwise. Dumb elaborate plans were his forte, his _coup de grâce_. He'd gone the extra mile to make sure that no matter what happened, he'd be the one to receive the brunt of any consequences. Keith figured he was disposable like that, a fuse meant to burn at full capacity for only so long. 

He remembered feeling it finally go out when the atmosphere exploded around him. He'd torn through the sound barrier and knocked himself cold before he'd even hit the ground, and maybe that was the small mercy that had saved him. 

Because Shiro was there in the end. He always was. 

Keith didn't mean to reenact how he felt when he watched Shiro burn through the sky. Yet some part of him, deep down, had been pleased and pettily overjoyed by the fact that Shiro had gotten to experience what it was like. It was devastating and soul-crushing and yet somehow invigorating, instilling a different kind of desire and determination that was hard to put any kind of words to. 

It made sure Shiro was there, though. 

Keith didn't need a protector. He knew he'd taken the mantle and done well enough with it as it was. But Shiro was his pillar, and he always would be. The Atlas to Keith's entire world, the one thing Keith could depend on. 

Shiro was asleep on his lap, cheek pressed flush to the scratchy hospital sheets. Keith smiled tenderly down at his form, fingers brushing gently through starlit hair. Falling in love didn't happen like he always thought it would, but it had with a firecracker to the heart that kick-started his system and forced Keith to make something of all of this. 

He was glad he had. In the end, though, he couldn't help but laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope y'all enjoyed this messy thing anyway! comments and kudos are always appreciated. and as always, you can find me on [tumblr](rottedflowerpits.tumblr.com). ♥


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